What Lies in Truth
by From Pen to Paper
Summary: The Dark Apprentice was Vader's perfect slave, obedient, emotionless and lethal.  He now understands why he was so perfect.  There is so much that lies within the truth.


Reviews are always welcome, please enjoy and as usual I don't own a thing

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><p><strong>What Lies in Truth<strong>

The hardhearted man surveyed his handiwork. It was magnificent.

Wires sparking hung from the ceiling, tubes broken emitted smoke flaying back and forth, the lights overhead flickered with an unsteady rhythm. The walls themselves appeared to have been battered with such force that several indents etched the walls. Boxes and other cargo lay tipped, toppled and torn in the small-confided area. The dark man trod across the instruments that had cascaded out of several crates. He bent down, supported by the balls of his feet.

"What do you think of my work?" The man motioned, sweeping his hand above the woman's body to indicate his craft. He rose to gain a better glimpse of the body. He was detached, using his boot to kick the woman over so that she lay on her back. Purple bruises painted her face and arms, one leg twisted in a sickly manner, only one of her sea blue eyes were visible the other was covered by the swollen skin on the left side of her once beautiful face.

Had he not already carried the memories of distant personal attachment he might have considered her to be attractive and may have pursued her. He mentally thanked himself from being able to see the harm of emotional imprints but more importantly being able to break the tether to them. Being perfect had come with the clarity. The man leaned down, uncaring and started to undo the bandages on her arm. He needed those for his own large, gaping wound just above the knee. Bandages in hand he stepped over her corpse heading to the other two, bent and misshapen on the floor.

The first body was old, beaten and accurately sliced in two with the utmost perfection. Unconsciously he flung what was left of the old man to the opposite side of the room. The man's dark eyes, once brown now amber only cared for the other body lying in front of him. Like him, the body held its scars of careless mistakes, untreated wounds and strong muscles necessary for survival. Effortlessly using his hands he pulled the man up to his level to look into his face searching for something that he might be missing. He found nothing.

The man pushed the dead man back to the ground. He surveyed his work on this man, thinking of how, if their battle had gone differently he might have been the one scattered on the ground. The fact that they looked identical already created the illusion that he was already dead.

Glancing back he subconsciously thanked the woman, had the other man not been so dedicated to protecting her he would have seen the red light thrusting itself into his chest. The dead man's eyes were half closed, left hand severed from the rest of his body, a burn mark embedded deeply into his fabric over were his heart had once lay, beating.

The dark man smiled to himself. He felt so proud. Sure, he had not beaten his "other self" unscathed but he had beaten him, he had beaten everyone. The dark man wiped his cheek feeling a mixture of both sweat and blood, for the first time he felt free. The taste of freedom did not last long.

A darker sweeping figure entered, his inhuman breath was cold to the sound.

"Kneel," he commanded his deep powerful voice shook the room. The man did so ignoring the pain in his leg and abdomen. The man's master moved closer to his servant's bent head, breathing in and out before speaking.

"You have done well my apprentice, as I knew you would". Pride rose in his chest, his master's praise was addictive. His master continued on,

"You will be called Starkiller, taking back your own real name".

"Master?" The man, Starkiller, did not understand. Starkiller was not his name, he had none. He was constructed, grown and born in a tank. There was nothing for him before that, his master had been painfully careful to drill this idea into his being for fear that he would turn out like the countless failures before him.

"If I had revealed this truth to you sooner, you would have fled. Instead you returned to the apprentice I had molded for years. You are mine to control." There was a cold exactness behind his words.

Starkiller spoke back to his master, waves of confusion fused into his words,

"I…I do not understand".

"You were never a clone".

Starkiller's eyes went wild staring at the floor. He did not understand. He was not, could not be the original Starkiller, he had already seen _that_ dead man. Surely this was a test, to see how he would react, he waited for his master to go on but said nothing. Starkiller raised his head to face his master, afraid of the truth that might come with his query.

"I..I..could not be. I saw the original Starkiller you showed me his body. You told me I was a clone".

"Yes. Had I not told you this, you would have run and tried to escape your path. You were easy to persuade."

Starkiller's words were hoarse and thick with repressed emotion,

"The body? The clones?"

"It was easy, I had countless of failed clones. I could have picked any of them to be the 'original' it was you who choose to believe. The clones were created to ensure your powers did not go to waste. You were broken, dead and it was not clear if you could be rebuilt. Precautions were made".

Starkiller faced the floor once more; everything was collapsing in on him. He could not grasp onto the truth that had been put upon him. His mind became a blurred line between lies, truth, and memories. Starkiller coughed, it had become difficult to breathe, when he was able to gulp lungfuls of the air he exhaled shakily and broken.

If it was true…everything he had done. All the destruction, all the deception, and all the people he had killed in blind obedience. Kota and Juno…

Starkiller rose from his knees. His jaw was rigid, teeth clenched down upon each other, his fury was overwhelming. It leaked from every pore. He stood face to face with the evil that had consumed and controlled his entire life. With gritted teeth Starkiller was only able to spit out his mistrust,

"You're lying".

"No. You hope I am lying".

It was all clear. Starkiller had never been free. Even in his death. With the revulsion that flowed through him for his master it was nothing compared to what he felt for himself.

It hit him with an iciness, of course he had been the "perfect" one. He had always been Starkiller.

The answers had always been there. Memories of a stolen lifetime had flashed across him time and time again yet he chose to ignore them. He had been so eager to rejoin his master's side that he had cast aside his old life. He was a fool.

Starkiller could feel heaviness in his chest that hadn't been there before. What did it matter anymore? He had done just what Vader wanted him to do yet again.

With his wrath fading Starkiller fell upon both of his knees before the Dark Lord in submission, his body felt numb. With strength he did not feel Starkiller could only utter out,

"Why now? Why not let me believe I was a clone?"

"It is simple," Vader moved behind his slave choosing his words carefully, "You only existed to serve my purposes but the time has now come for your end. You are no longer of any use to me. I felt that if you die you should do so drowning in your own misery".

"It is not my misery! It is yours! It's your fault, you killed them all, you-" Starkiller had found his voice again and was shouting at the top of his lungs, it filled every inch before a swift and booming response cut him off.

"No. I did not kill them. You did."

"Yes," Starkiller could not contain his animosity, his volume rising with every venom soaked word "but I only did so because you told me that-"

"Regardless of what I told you in the end it was you who chose to obey. It was you who massacred those who placed their faith in your abilities".

Starkiller was done. He knew he had lost, not just his freedom, his self-respect, but everything. Blood stained fingers held their place in his eyes; Vader had been right. It was he who had brought down his own demise. With his own hands he had cut down those who cared about him. The girl who had shown him his first and glimpse at humanity, her life had been crushed with his powers. He could still hear her last moments.

"_Please," she begged. Her pleas were not for herself but for Starkiller's clone. Starkiller had already successfully separated the other's hand from his body. Her plea grew louder; her voice was choking in restrained heartbreak,_

"_Please, not him! Take me instead!" She attempted to make her way to them but her broken leg haltered her movement. Starkiller paid no attention but delivered his last fateful blow to his brother and her scream was excruciating. The imperfect man fell to the floor. He turned to finish the woman. She was backing up against the wall her head shaking back and forth, her hands over her mouth,_

"_No…No…" His hand had found her neck. With the other two dead she was alone and defenseless. Starkiller knew that he could draw out her death as long as he wanted to. No one would stop him. Before he would cruelly end her he was curious he had to ask,_

"_Why? Why should I have taken you instead of him?" She gulped her fingers trying to pry his hands from her neck, she stared into his eyes, and she was looking for something that she would not find. Her will broke and her hands fell limply to her sides, she understood that she wasn't going to live. Her eyelids closed hiding her blue eyes; a tear fell from under her long blonde lashes. He was only able to make out her small whisper,_

"_He died for me once already. He didn't need to die for me a second time". That was more than Starkiller wanted to hear. He flung her body around to another wall and she flopped like a ragdoll. This would be fun; he walked towards his prey, her eyes full of contempt._

Starkiller felt ashamed. Not only was the woman gone, but also he had destroyed the only version of himself that had stayed devoted beside her. He had not even given her the dignity of saving that part of himself for her. He was selfish. Starkiller reached to his side belt, he removed his lightsaber, holding it between both of his hands.

Vader was right, he was useless. There was nothing he had ever done correctly in his life he had not one redeeming quality.

It was because of this realization that Starkiller's body did not even flinch as he heard the ignition hiss of his Master's lightsaber positioning itself ready to strike.

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><p>Author's Notes: Thanks for reading! I've had this idea in my head for what seems like forever and I figured that I should probably just write it down already! It was my own twist on the version of the truth behind the real Starkiller's identity. I'm eager to hear what people thought of it. Thanks to Placebo's amazing song, "Running Up That Hill" that was a constant companion while I wrote this. I will most likely return later to make more corrections and add more, maybe.<p> 


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